"I've already read Hogarth's files," Matt told her. He was chasing after her, his cane repeatedly tapping on the sidewalk, his shoulders periodically bumping passerbys. Jessica was parting a sea of New Yorkers before her, moving swiftly with one goal.
"And now I want to read them," she called back over her shoulder, but with his heightened senses Matt heard her perfectly. He could also hear her heartbeat, fluttering rapidly in anticipation. She was excited and he knew she wouldn't stop.
"I just don't think there's anything there-" he began, almost missing Jessica's abrupt stop mid-stride. He nearly walked into her.
She turned around to face him, the sea of people settling back into their original form, encircling them indifferently. "While I appreciate that you've read up on me, you can't know if anything important is in those files because you don't know what you're looking for."
"I know they don't say anything about some-," Matt stopped himself, knowing they were surrounded by potentially perked ears.
Jessica scoffed, not caring who heard them. "Some Kilgrave cult?" she finished for him. "No kidding. I'm not expecting to see the rap sheets and current addresses of our attackers, but if there's anything to be known, Hogarth knows it. Trust me, she's not just a lawyer."
Jessica turned back, continuing her brisk walk to Matt Murdock's loft. She had memorized the route earlier that morning - in reverse. Past a dry cleaners, one block from a closed Thai place, and just 35 feet from the corner. For a moment she had thought about buying him a coffee and a croissant and returning to the relative comfort of his couch, gifts in hand. She had thought about saying "thank you" or "you didn't have to" or something to show her gratitude - even though she probably could have fought her way out of there had he just given her a moment. She had thought about showing her vulnerability, talking to him about her fear that Kilgrave had returned. She had thought about letting him in, but decided against it. She was better off alone.
Climbing the stairs to his loft, Matt trailing just slightly behind, she resolved once the files were in her hands she would go back to working solo. As Matt fumbled with his keys she told him so, "Look I just want the files and then we can go our separate ways."
He opened the door and she stormed inside.
"Meaning what exactly?" he asked her.
"Meaning no one knows Kilgrave like I do. If he's back it's up to me to stop him."
Jessica found her way to his desk and without invitation began rummaging through his things. Matt didn't stop her. Instead he sat down in the leather chair closest to her, leaning back, waiting for what was to come.
Picking up a file marked "Jessica Jones", she leafed through it's pages. But Jessica quickly realized she would never be able to read Matt's version of Hogarth's files. They were in braille.
Asshole. "You knew I wouldn't be able to read this," she said, tossing the pages back down on the desk.
Matt smiled, but his boyish charms meant nothing to her. She lunged for him and grabbed the collar of his shirt, but his smile failed to dissipate. Jessica released him in frustration.
She ran a hand through her thick mane. "Why would bring me here if you knew the files were useless?"
"I didn't bring you here. I followed you, remember?" he replied, the smile still lingering.
"Would you stop smiling?" she growled.
Matt had to force himself to pull it back. "I'm sorry. I just think you're going about this all wrong. I told you when we first met that I would help you and I'm telling you again. You don't have to fight alone."
"Said the guy who forced his team to abandon him so he could martyr himself by dying with his evil ex-girlfriend?" she spat back. "Yeah. If it's all the same to you, alone works best for me."
"Okay," he relented, momentarily regretting not having told her about the files before she heavy footed through all of Hell's Kitchen. Then his smile returned.
"What now?" Jessica asked.
"It's just… well, I didn't think you rattled."
Jessica pushed the braille pages off the desk. Matt listened as they fluttered one by one to the ground. She then filled the empty space, sitting on the desk herself, her long legs dangling.
"I'm not rattled. I'm pissed off," she told him truthfully.
Frustration rose inside her as she swung her legs back and forth trying to determine her next move. Was he trying to protect her somehow, leading her away from Hogarth's offices to ensure she couldn't see the real, readable files? Maybe he thought the information contained within would hurt her in some way. But he had no idea how she could be hurt and how she was capable of hurting back.
Who is he to think he can help me? Save me? Jessica's pulse began to race as her anger rose.
Sensing her increasing annoyance, Matt knew what he had to do. "I can read them to you, if you want," he gently told her, standing to retrieve the pages.
As he crouched on the hardwood next to her, he felt her eyes following him. "How will I know you're reading everything?"
"I guess you'll just have to trust me."
After another heavy sigh, Jessica slinked to the floor next to him. She curled her legs beneath her and began collecting the loose pages with him. Matt listened as her heartbeat normalized, her pulse relaxed, and the anger began to cool.
"You ready?" he asked, settling in next to her.
"Actually, I could use a drink."
XXXXXXXXXXXX
One bottle of scotch later, Matt had finished reading aloud the entirety of Jeri Hogarth's files on Jessica. They had included information about the beginnings of her relationship with Kilgrave, what he had made her do under his influence, and his death at her her hands. Matt had read them before, but doing so with her sitting no more than two feet away coloured the experience. Jessica tried to maintain her indifference, but each mention of his name was followed by another swig of the scotch bottle - a bottle she neglected to share.
But, as he had told her before, there was nothing in the file's pages that would allude to Kilgrave's miraculous resurrection. Matt was sure the men who attacked them were only talking big. Jessica Jones was a known figure, people recognized her. It stood to reason criminals were among them. Taking out the woman who killed Kilgrave might equal status within a gang or mob. Matt was positive that Kilgrave was dead and someone out there wanted Jessica dead too.
"Are you okay," he asked against his better judgment. Jessica Jones did not seem to the be the type of woman who needed sympathy,
Jessica didn't reply. Matt could almost hear her thinking.
After what felt like minutes of strained silence, she said, "We have to go back to the warehouse."
Matt shook his head no.
Jessica stood in protest, the empty bottle of scotch hanging loosely from her hand. "I thought you were some kind of superhero," she said to him, baiting him. "I mean, let's say I'm wrong and this has nothing to do with Kilgrave, there's still a shady warehouse on the edge of Hell's Kitchen where greasy guys kidnap women and beat them."
"And I took care of them," he reminded her.
"We took care of them," Jessica corrected, taking a swig from the bottle before realizing there was nothing to swig. "And we failed to figure out what was going on. I think the PI in me and the superhero in you needs to go back."
Matt stood beside her, taking the empty bottle and resting it on the desk, fearing it would eventually slip from her hands. "That's the second time you've called me a superhero. Trust me, I'm not."
Jessica laughed, letting her head roll back. Matt wished he could see her in all her glory, but settled for reading the vibrations that emanated from her body and the aura of scotch that saturated her.
He couldn't help but love how easily her mood changed. She might be burdened by Kilgrave, but she could still laugh. She could still mock him. He wondered if all the alcohol helped in that regard, allowing her to loosen around him - or maybe she was just comfortable by his side.
When they had first met they didn't like each other. No trust, no respect. But within one conversation, albeit one where he smashed her camera and heard her call him an "asshole", he knew he liked her. He liked her stubbornness, her determination, her inability to tell him something other than the truth. Calling him a superhero was her way of saying he was the kind of man who would stop at nothing to help people. And right now she was the one who needed his help.
As Matt opened his mouth to reply, ready to charge headlong into danger once again his ears perked at the sound of brakes screeching on the street below. The two vans from the night before were parked outside his building and at least a dozen men were exiting.
"We can't go to the warehouse," he told Jessica.
She sighed in response. "Really? Not even after I called you a superhero?"
Matt wanted to smile in return, but he was too busy calculating the odds of their success in a close quarters fight. 12 men they could handle, but in the distance another van could be heard making entry onto his street. That would make it 18 men. With Jessica healed, he knew together they could take the advantage.
"Hello? Are you listening to me?" Jessica said, cutting into his thoughts.
"We can't go to the warehouse, because the guys from the warehouse are here."
Jessica didn't ask him how he knew. She trusted in his abilities and made a straight shot for the window, peering down to the growing crowd of thugs below.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath.
"There's only 18. We can take 18," Matt told her.
"I think you should suit up," she said.
He hadn't worn the Daredevil suit since the day he "died". It had been badly mangled in the collapse of Midland Circle. Parts of it were cut or torn away by the nuns treating him. When he left he took all the pieces that could be saved, but he had yet to reveal his return to Melvin Potter or anyone outside the circle who fought The Hand.
"Well?" Jessica questioned, as she watched the group below split into two, some men making their way into the front of the building, some charging behind and out of sight.
"I don't have a suit to change into," he told her feeling foolish. He had come home to warn everyone they were in danger, but never thought to arm himself for what could be the fight of his life? Stupid, Matt.
"Then here," Jessica said, as she picked her blood stained scarf off the coffee table and threw it at him.
Matt caught it with a grin. Taking his glasses off and placing them in his coat pocket, Matt tied the grey scarf tightly around his head and eyes. Fists up, he was ready, until he heard a fourth van arrive.
"There are more," Jessica said. She had returned to her perch at the window.
She was right. Five more men. No six. But the sixth walked differently. Heavy. Hard. The van's undercarriage moaned, the metal groaning in relief as this new player stepped out onto the street. The earth seemed to part around him. His expanse was too great.
Matt knew instantly who it was. "Fisk!"